Journal of a Coward
by Vanaerys
Summary: When Draco asks Ginny out in front of the whole school, he's shocked when she says no (in the tradition of all great egotistical Malfoy men). However, as he soon finds out, this isn't her final word...And here is his journal. The journal of a coward.


_Disclaimer: _God, I'm sick of these things. Well, no point in saying what we all already know, so on to the author's note.

_Author's Note:_ Pardon if you think he's out of character, but who can tell what a fictional character thinks? Not me! (Although it sure is fun to pretend I can.) Anyway, read, tell me what you think, and keep in mind that this is only the beginning...

_"'""'""'""_

_15 Nov, 5:30 PM. My life is ruined.  
_  
This is it. I'm never going to be able to face the rest of the school again, ever. The reputation of Draco Malfoy, resident Prince of Slytherin and the handsomest student ever to grace these stupid corridors, is finished. And all because of some little red-haired WENCH!  
  
I'm too upset to think clearly, otherwise would have never used the word 'wench'. Who says that? I sound like a pirate.  
  
I've always wanted to be a pirate.  
  
Agh, what am I thinking?! They dress terribly!  
  
I'm not thinking, and it's all her fault.  
  
Will have to finish later, as cannot concentrate worth a damn.  
  
_15 Nov, 8:00 PM. Back.  
_  
Well, am feeling slightly better, though not by much. Got to watch Crabbe and Goyle torture a few first years, which was fairly gratifying. Can't really understand why I'm even bothering to write in this idiotic contraption--Father sent it to me a while back, with a note attached saying that he wanted me to watch Potter and keep a general record of his movements. Of course, this confirmed in my mind that the man is absolutely barmy. I mean, what am I supposed to write? "Potter ate breakfast. Was chewing suspiciously. Could see that he was clearly planning some move against the Dark Lord."  
  
Right.  
  
Anyway, about aforementioned little red-haired...person. I should have known better than to ask out that Weasley, is all I can say. I mean, it's not as if I could have asked out any of the other ones--complete and utter hooligans, the lot of them. No manners at all.  
  
And all male, on top of that. People would talk.  
  
But Ginny...I thought she, at least, was of higher quality than the rest of them. And it's not as if I can help it that she turned out to be so very pretty. It's just like women, using charms like prettiness against us men. They only do it to spite us, I'm sure.  
  
But anyway, I digress.  
  
Today, in the Great Hall, in front of everyone, I asked her out. Looking back, I'm not sure what I expected, but it was certainly anything other than what happened. She said no. She said no to a Malfoy.  
  
Maybe it's just me, but people don't usually do that sort of thing.  
  
I mean, it's not as if I just ponced right up to her and said, "Hey, baby, want to go to Hogsmeade next weekend?" I have more self-respect than that, although she seemed not to realize how very chivalrous I was being.  
  
Alright, so maybe I did ponce a little. All I can say in my own defense is that the only real male role model I've ever had is my father, and all you need to do is watch him for a few minutes around any woman but Mum and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. Come to think of it, he's not even all that dashing around her...  
  
Anyway though, this is what happened, after she said no:  
  
Me: No? You can't be serious.  
  
Her: Oh, but I am. (Note blatant and unnecessary sarcasm. The little witch.)  
  
Me: .... (My wit, most unfortunately, was beguiled by her feminine charms. Damn all feminine charms.)  
  
Weasley Senior: What, finally run out of things to say, Malfoy? (Why did he have to stick his overlarge, freckled nose in? Just when I was gathering the remaining shards of my dignity, too. Just like him.)  
  
Me: (To him) Of course not. (To her) I see I shouldn't have wasted my time over here. You're all the same, dirt-poor filth. (I admit, my temper did get the better of me here.)  
  
Potter: Bugger off, Malfoy. She said no.  
  
In any case, that was about how the rest of the conversation went, until Ginny decided to be incredibly and inconceivably evil. She said she would indeed go out with me (ah, the looks on Potter and Weasley's faces there!) if I committed three acts of 'bravery'.  
  
BRAVERY? Who does she think I am--Potter?  
  
I think I agreed. It's all rather hazy in my mind.  
  
Why did I agree?  
  
Well, aside from my reputation being ruined and my dignity smashed to pieces on the sharp rocks of, er, something sharp, that is. Well, my honor must be salvaged.  
  
Malfoys can be brave...can't they? Ah, this is going to be easy. She says she'll meet me tomorrow at three o'clock on the quidditch pitch. Until then, I'm not going to think about it any more.  
  
I only agreed because of my honor, and the honor of my family.  
  
NO OTHER REASON.  
  
I don't even like her that much, come to think of it.  
  
Bugger.  
  
_16 Nov, 5:07 AM. What am I doing?  
_  
Having some slight trouble sleeping. Not because I'm nervous, of course - Malfoys are never nervous. It's probably just that treacle I had for dinner. Yes, that's it...  
  
Blast Ginny Weasley.  
  
_16 Nov, 5:13 AM.  
_  
What did she mean by 'bravery', anyway?  
  
_16 Nov, 5:28 AM.  
_  
Hope it's nothing too Potter-esque. That could tarnish my reputation. Not to mention the fact that he's a right-out prat. I mean, look at his hair. It's so...Potter-like...all messy and...stuff...  
  
I did have a point. I'm quite sure of it.  
  
Better go back to bed. Am feeling a bit delirious.  
  
_16 Nov, 5:56 AM.  
_  
Note to Self: Remember to 'accidentally' drop a couple of Dung Bombs in Potter's Befuddlement Draught tomorrow. Maybe that'll teach him to mind his own business.  
  
_16 Nov, 8:18 AM. After Breakfast.  
_  
Gave up on trying to get some sleep. Went downstairs for a piece of toast, but noticed Potter smirking at me over his porridge. Decided I wasn't so hungry after all. Caught Weasley snickering as I walked out. Maybe I'll make Crabbe and Goyle have a talk with him later.  
  
Wonder if Potter knows his smirk makes him look constipated.  
  
Will tell him later.  
  
_16 Nov, 1:48 PM. Herbology.  
_  
I've no idea what we're doing, so I have given up for now and let Crabbe and Goyle have their fun. Ha--Goyle's gone and tried to eat one of the seeds from the Bi-Lunar Hibiscus Plant. His ears seem to have turned into crescent moons, and they're quite bright.  
  
Brighter than he'll ever be, I shouldn't wonder.  
  
Oh good, he's finally being led away to what passes as an infirmary around here. I was beginning to think no one had noticed but me, and I was certainly too blinded to do anything about it. This isn't stopping Professor Sprout from giving me the evil eye, though, as if this is somehow my fault. Whatever. I have no desire to pay any attention to anyone with fingernails as dirty as the Professor. I swear, she could probably transplant trees in the dirt accumulated under there.  
  
One hour and twelve minutes until I meet Ginny on the Quidditch field.  
  
God sa--wait a minute. Maybe I should say Goddess save me, I knowing for a fact that some of my ancestors were druids back in the days of yore. You know, when King Arthur and those chaps were riding to and fro righting wrongs and forcing their bloody religion upon all those medieval types that just wanted to farm and worship the Mother Goddess and such. Maybe I inherited some bravery from them.  
  
I mean the druids, not King Arthur.  
  
One can only hope.  
  
Although I really must say that at least some of my druidic ancestors must have been converted, because I don't think that there's a single person in this school that's got a family as dry as mine, even with my father being a Death Eater and all.  
  
But I've got a sneaking suspicion that any Christian old moldy V got his hands on would be dead before they could say Pie Jesu.  
  
Class is out, one hour to go.  
  
_ Note to Self: Remember to subtly investigate possible Christian heritage without alerting Father, as would go all stroppy and say I was wasting valuable time I could be learning to curse people in._


End file.
